


The Con Called Love

by Trixie_Baggins



Series: The Kensington Chronicles [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 07:59:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2843855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trixie_Baggins/pseuds/Trixie_Baggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My heart is breaking for my sister and the con that she called "love"<br/>When I look into my nephew's eyes...<br/>Man, you wouldn't believe the most amazing things that can come from...<br/>Some terrible nights.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Con Called Love

"Kenzie...."

They had implored her; they had pleaded with her; they had even begged her. This relationship was no good, it would only amount to her or someone she cared about getting hurt. But love is blind and Kensington was in love. This love would play an important part later in the story, a story that many didn't even know would take place.

Who is Kensington? She's trouble. More specifically she's the youngest child in the Holmes family, a psychologist, a Doctor, an attorney and a former sniper in the British army. There is an unspoken, yet still existing, battle between her and Sebastian Moran of who would actually claim the prestigious title of 'best in history'. More important than any of that though, more than her work, more than her titles, more than-even- her family, is her husband. Because she loves him.

Kensington Allana Holmes married the one and only James Moriarty. Against the wishes of her two older brothers, despite the warnings of John Watson the Doctor responsible for the girl being alive. Because love is blind.

Kenzie is the type of girl that you should be worried about. With all the brains of Mycroft, all the energy of Sherlock, the looks of a supermodel and none of the social awkwardness accompanying her family, if Kensington isn't trouble, she's his best friend. She doesn't mind her repuatation, sometimes she even enjoys it, but she does mind what it does to her brothers. Because she loves them.

 

 

Kensington has the most beautiful eyes. It was one of the first things James had noticed about her. Well, that and the fact she could rival him in a game of deductions or wits. Kenzie's eyes were the most beautiful green you'd ever seen. They were a perfect emerald green, and even shone like one. But that wasn't what made them so spectacular. No one really knows where the genes for it came from, but Kensington had gold flecks in her eyes. James loved that about her, that and how they shone as brilliantly as the sun when she was happy. She was happy when she was around James, because she was in love with him.

Growing up, Sherlock and Mycroft's sister had no lack of potential suitors. She did, however, have a lack of actual boyfriends. Not many could match her intelligence level and, like her brother's, she was easily bored. If a gentleman did manage to make it through the first level of protection Kensington had put her, herself, they would most likely be taken down by her second, her brothers. From primary school to secondary and then through university, Kensington had had a grand total of three boyfriends. James Moriarty managed to get through both layers of protection, though, because she loved him. And love is blind.

Although her parents were rather well-to-do, the youngest Holmes got a full-ride scholarship to Oxford, and took it. She could actually do the school thing, unlike Sherlock. There she studied law and medicine before deeming both of those careers 'too dull' and enlisting in the British Army. At first Mycroft pulled some strings to make sure that his only sister wouldn't be involved with most of the real action, but then Kenzie started pulling the exact same strings to make sure that she was. In the end, Mycroft gave up and let Kensington have normal tours in Afghanistan because she loved it. Because he loved her, and loved to watch her doing what she loved.

 

 

Molly once told Sherlock that Jim's eyes were blue like the ocean. Kensington confirmed it. Sherlock had never noticed before, eyes may have been the windows to the soul, but the rest of the body gave him information on what he needed to know. The eyes showed emotion and sentiment, but Sherlock didn't care about either, so he didn't look. If he had, though, he would have seen the way James Moriarty looked at his wife- with emotion, and with sentiment. Love, more specifically. Because even though one looks with love, love is blind. 

It was because of that love that Jim turned a blind eye to the fact that Kensie was his arch-enemies sister; to the fact that Kensington was (for the most part) on the right side of the law; and most importantly to the fact that Sebastian Moran -Jim's right hand man- absolutely hated her guts. If he was smart, he would've listened to his advisors, but he didn't. Because love makes us do stupid things. 

For the most part, Kensie's hair was jet black and straight, falling to her mid back. Occasionally she would have it up, especially when she was working, but there was something comforting about the movement of it that made her keep it down. Despite her line, or lines, of work, the girl had crimson streaks in her hair. Because she liked them, and because Mycroft hadn't been there to stop her when she got them. 

On any form of Kensington's it will list her name (Kensinton Allana Holmes) and her Age (27), but one of them isn't true. Mycroft, Sherlock, and Kensie herself have lied on nearly every single piece of paper concering her. They say she's 27, but she's not. She's 24. The only reason they can do this, is because Mycroft is powerful, and she's a genius. No one less than a genious could graduate from Oxford, the top of their class, in both Medicine and Law at the age of 19. Although her brothers didn't want her to, didn't want her to grow up that fast, they let her do it. Because they loved her. And sometimes love means letting go.

 

 

A glass vase shattered against a door and echoed through the mostly empty rooms in a Conduit Street house. The young couple living inside, married for only a few months, were obviously having some marital issues. The only reason the neighbors weren't calling the cops is because last time they did, death threats were found on each and every one of their personal computers. Better to just stay out of it all, is what more than one of them said. If one of the neighbors had looked out their front window, though, they would have seen a young girl, probably in her mid-twenties, storming out of the expensive house, across the yard, black suede heels clicking on the sidewalk, and driving off in an Aston Martin. Later, they would have seen a slightly older man, dressed in an impeccable suit, stride confidently across the yard to where a car was waiting to pick him up. The neighbors loved their families and so they turned a blind eye to what went on in that house because love can make you blind.

There was a knock on the door at 221B Baker Street and John Watson opened it to reveal a young girl who he had treated in Afghanistan standing there, looking worse for wear. 'You okay, Kensie?' were the first words out of his mouth. 

'Fine,' came the default reply, even though she was obviously not fine. 'Sherlock in?'

'No, on a case.'

'And you didn't go?'

'Had to work. Just got back.'

'I seee.' Awkward pause. 'Can I come in and wait?'

The sliver of the door opened wider. 'Be my guest.'

 

 

Sherlock pushed open the door to the Baker Street flat. He turned toward the stairs where he found John Watson sitting. 'John?' 

'You have a client,' the Dr replied.

'Oh?'

'Upstairs. Right now.'

'And?'

'We have a history.'

'I see.'

'She looks like she's in trouble, Sherlock. Take this one? For me?'

'I'll look into it.'

John never told him to take cases so he did wonder what was special about them. As he pushed open the door to where the girl was waiting in what would be considered the living room, she jumped, spilling the cup of tea that Mrs Hudson had probably brought her. She whirled, but even before she did so, the consulting detective saw jet black hair with unimistakable blood red highlights. 'Kensie?'

'Sherlock.' The reply came quietly, but one could still hear the relief in her voice.

'Kensie? Wait, you two know each other?!' The two Holmes had almost forgotten that john was in the same room, but his interruption reminded them very quickly.

'Er....yeah,' It was Kensington that found her voice first. 'But you knew that.'

The moment of realization was plain on John's face, that he had seen these two fighting before, had watched Kensie storm out of Baker Street in tears. 

'Oh, right. I forgot.'

'The case?' Sherlock interjected and Kensington took a seat again. 

'Not really a case. More of a personal problem.'

Dr Watson watched the darkness that spread over Sherlock's face as he demanded quietly 'What did he do?'

Kensie let out a long sigh and took a sip of the now-cold tea before she began her story.

 

 

 

In every relationship there are good days and bad days. In the James and kensington Moriarty relationship, there were more bad than good. But the good ones were really good. If one asked Sherlock Holmes what the worst thing about James Moriarty was, he would reply his spontaneity. Criminals got caught because they had a patter that they followed until one day they slipped up and were caught by Scotland Yard, MI-6, et cetera. James Moriarty, however, had no such pattern.

If you asked Kensington Holmes what the best thing about her husband was, she'd tell you his spontaneity. Other husbands have routines, patterns. They come home from work, kiss their wife, have dinner and then disappear. In the morning they wake up, drink coffee, kiss their wife and then leave for work. Not so with James Moriarty. He was the type of husband that surprises you with breakfast in bed, flowers at work, picnics under the stars, stealing Air Force 1 when the President of the United States was in town. It's not the kinds of things that one can predict or get used to, but one can predict that he would be spontaneous that get used to that fact.

Kitty Riley hated Kensington Moriarty because she was all things that the ginger wanted to be- close to Sherlock, a confidant of James Moriarty, and (both legally and illegally) untouchable. She envied the fact that James Moriarty was a real person, but one who only showed up when one of the Holmes were around. She despised the fact that if Sherlock needed help he would go to Kensie and not herself. And so, in the sick messed up organ that was her brain, she came up with a plan to deal with the three of them once and for all. It wasn't a well thought out plan, but it was a plan with a high chance of success. 

 

 

The top of Barts Hospital. James Moriarty versus Sherlock Holmes. The final chapter of the final problem. As the two looked at each other, they realized how they were complete opposites of each other, but also mirror images. Both of them were different than the rest of humanity. Both of them were too smart for their own good. Both of them played a large part in the criminal world (one good, one bad). And both of them would do whatever it took to make sure that Kensington (and her unborn child) would live the full extent of their lives. 

There was a gunshot so unexpected, not even Sherlock Holmes saw it coming. James Moriarty lay dead at his feet in a pool of his own blood, ocean blue eyes staring sightlessly into oblivion. So this was it, then. He had to jump, otherwise the people he cared about, Mrs Hudson, John, Molly and Kensie, would all die. So be it. He called John from the edge of the roof, and said goodbye.

 

 

It was all over the news. Sherlock Holmes, Dead. Fake Detective, Real Death. Consulting Detective Commits Suicide. The fact that her older brother, and the one she was closest too had committed suicide had thrown the youngest Holmes into shock, and early labor. Airlifted to the nearest hospital, the medics and her arrived barely in enough time for the baby to be born before the young girl lost consciousness. 

the doctors and surgeons slaved through th night trying to keep her from falling into a coma or worse. the baby, born two months early, had his own complications and an entire different team of doctors and nurses had their work cut out for them. As it was, though, mother and baby were stabilized at the same time. When the now awake Kensington Moriarty saw her oldest child for the first time, she smiled. The nurse in charge of records asked for a name, and it took just a split second of recollection before she had one: William James Holmes.

Kensie and William went home in the following few days. Not to the house on Conduit Street (technically that was Scotland Yard's evidence now), but to Mycroft's home. it was in the late afternoon one day when Mycroft came in to talk to his sister. 'Kensington?'

'Yes?'

'I have something for you.'

'What is it?'

'A letter. From James Moriarty.'

It wasn't really a letter, more like a suicide note. It was addressed to Kensington Holmes c/o Mycroft Holmes, but the elder had not even dared to open. He set it down on the desk where the girl had been reviewing a case file. William had just awakened and as Mycroft brought him out of his crib and to his mother he realized that his nephew had ocean blue eyes, with gold flecks in them.


End file.
